


A man who is not a man

by dragoonsbeard



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Feral Jaskier, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Protective, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:02:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22463800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoonsbeard/pseuds/dragoonsbeard
Summary: Jaskier is upset when the villagers throw stones at Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 702





	A man who is not a man

Jakier had always been aware of the mistreatment Geralt faced by human hand, the slitted molten orbs of the Witcher had caught jaskier off kilter on many occasions. 

The roar of his insomnia, wild silver mane thatknotted about his face- ferocious. Past humanity lost to the primal snarl in his voice.

The low of battle, armor torn and ragged. His frayed tunic dripping crimson and clustered with the stench of death. 

The endless existence, nothing short of an ominous shadow in the night.

And yet as the villagers shifted uneasy by presence of a man- _who was not a man_. 

Jaskier felt no sympathy to their ignorant cause- fragile stability crippled by irrational fear.The flooding thud of jaskiers human heart pumped not blood but pity at the stupidity of his own race.

For Geralt of rivia may be but a creature of design- he was no monster nor a mindless beast.

And it hurt to realize the severity of hate his witchering friend has forced to undergo in his many years.

The first stone was thrown, blunt and grey- it’s heavy shape thudded directly into Geralt’s temple. His head jolted to the side under the impact. In its wake thick blood that spilt from his brow to his lip.

Regardless of the blood drawn and sting of broken skin, the Witcher made no move to defend himself from pelting stones. As if it meant little- their hatred- their digust- their  _ ignorance _ .

Had he always done this, bared himself to the harsh punishment of his existence. Face blank and lost.

when Geralt was young did he shy away from frigid eyes. Flinch from airborne stones? Did he shout and scream for answers? Mercy?

Did he do this alone. For all his years.

As quick as pity seized his gut- it fled. Replaced by a surge of absolute hysteria. 

Jaskier must have seemed crazed as he threw himself between Geralt and the next projectile. The sharp stone bit into the bards soft cheek. It tore bloody under the force. 

Jaskier lapped the blood from his lips, mindless of the silence that accompanied his actions.  
The Witcher’s bard spoke, an exquisite insult that rolled poisonous from his lips- fell on deaf ears.

Jaskiers smooth voice built not only volume but a feral quality.

“I said-“ his lips parted into a bloodied smile “whomever threw that stone. _Your mother is a whore_ ”

The uproar of enraged shouts did little to deter the musician who scooped up his scarlet stained stone and launched it with as much force as he could muster.  
It landed, square in a mans rotted teeth- scattering them across the mud road.

The howl of patronizing laughter that tore from jaskiers throat was a jarring incentive for Geralt to snap from his stupor and snatch his bard away from the ammunition of stones. Beyond the border of rackety alleys and into the embrace of the woodlands.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I was defiantly channeling that vine “who ever threw that , your mums a ho”  
> Feral jaskier ‘‘tis the shit.


End file.
